Agent of Influence: A Thriller (19 page)

             
Allan released a sigh of frustration and then his temper began to creep back to the surface. “Why the hell didn’t you send someone else out to Egypt as soon as you pulled her into the U.S.?  Now we’re down to the wire here, boys. This is no time to jack around.”

“Mr. President, you’ve
already pointed out how sensitive this little operation is and that our balls would be hung from the Washington monument if it got leaked! We were and are still concerned that there is a leak somewhere. We just found out Sean’s convoy was attacked as soon as he set foot in the country. As dangerous as Zach may or may not be, we had to play this one close to the vest. Once Bret sent Sean out there we did alert an officer in Cairo, but that was the extent of it.” Malcolm vigorously defended his position. The President was dead wrong on this one. Nothing was more important here than secrecy. If this became public it would be just the ammunition certain members of Congress could use to de-claw the CIA for years to come.

              Allan nervously moved a stack of paper around on his desk in a haphazard manner. He stared at the bright yellow carpet with a distant look. He was not sure if Malcolm was correct. This was truly a unique situation; an outgoing President who approves the investigation of the man who defeated him in an election. It would not set a good precedent, that was true, but he still believed the risk that this man possibly posed made it worth his while. “So you still haven’t told me where she is guys.” Allan’s eyes darted back and forth between them, waiting for an answer.

             
“The good news is it appears she discovered something in Vegas because she warned us off with a signal at the airport. None of the safe houses she set up appear to have been messed with, and Zach is still holed up in a hotel room at Aman’s casino with the Secret Service watching over him. We’ve had no contact with her though so I believe she is probably dead,” Bret said, giving him the worst case scenario. He hoped it would push him towards a decision to stop the investigation.

Malcolm jumped in immediately to protest. “I have to disagree with his assessment, sir. I think she has escaped.  I called Aman to ask if I could fly out there and give Zach a personal briefing on some national security issues. Aman declined. He claimed they were dealing with some of Zach’s personal problems and it would have to wait. Aman said he would call me back. He sounded like he was in a panic so something is going on out there that is not to his liking,” the CIA Director retorted.

              “When is Sean going to be checking back in?” The President realized he would not be getting any more information for the moment.

“Any time, Mr. President. As soon as we hear from him we will provide you with an update,” Bret finished.

              “Fine, I know you both have plenty to do, but keep me in the loop. Now get out of here and try not to be photographed as you are leaving.” The President was already out of his chair, and ushering them to the exit. He placed a hand on the shoulder of each man to show his full support for both of them. After they left President Gray stood by the window and looked out at the small crowd of tourists admiring the White House Christmas decorations that sat on the open field, just beyond the gates of the South Lawn. His shoulders slumped, and he wondered once again if he was saving the country he loved or assisting in its destruction. 

Chapter 23

NEVADA
 

Gregor closed his cell phone and allowed himself the slightest moment to gloat before returning to his German roots, which consisted of a taciturn stare.  The extra precautions he put in place with his people in Reno were paying dividends. The call he had just made to Solomon to give him the news was the most enjoyable thing he had done in weeks. He loved one-upping the Frenchman, and he was already looking forward to their next meeting with Aman so he could rub it in his face. He knew they would have to finish the job first.  He glanced at the clock on the dashboard and pressed on the gas. The black BMW X-5’s engine responded immediately and the vehicle quickly gathered momentum, despite the increasing volume of snow that was beginning to fall on Route 395 between Las Vegas and South Lake Tahoe. He needed to get there by nightfall.

             
It had been less than forty-eight hours, and they finally found the woman and her companion.  The call came in from one of his watchmen. Gregor never trusted Aman’s Arab posse, as he thought of them. Aman only employed a handful of surveillance people on staff so Gregor had been forced to be creative. A few years prior he helped a private investigator in Reno out of jam. The man’s gambling problem landed him in trouble with the wrong crowd. Gregor made the problem disappear, and the man had been on the payroll ever since. The only condition was that if he started wagering again Gregor would hand him over to his former creditors.

It proved to be one of his most inspired moves. The man was incredible at tracking people. He spent several years in
Vietnam roaming the jungles for Viet Cong, and now spent his time skiing the mountains around Reno and Lake Tahoe and doing special jobs when called upon by Gregor. Gregor promised him double the usual fee if he succeeded, and left open the opportunity for more. His job description was simple. He was ordered to follow Aman’s watchers. Several hours later the private investigator was tracking Hussein.

The trail ended late the night before at a small inn on the outskirts of
South Lake Tahoe. Hussein entered the inn in the middle of the night, and the next morning a man and a woman took off in his car. The private investigator made a quick decision, and cautiously trailed them back to the small ski town at the base of the mountain. He snapped several photos, and watched them pay for a room at a cheap motel nestled between the large casinos and the lake. 

Gregor now admitted that Solomon’s first thoughts about the woman were definitely correct. She was undoubtedly some type of federal agent, probably FBI. There was no way that a normal person would double-back as she was doing. It was a clever ploy; an excellent way to throw off one’s stalkers, and it would have been a success were it not for the private investigator Gregor used as a safety valve.  As long as they stayed at the motel for another hour or so they would have her. Solomon would call Aman with an update,
and then begin to make his way through Carson City and into the ski town via Highway 50 south, which ran down the mountains and along the lake. Gregor and his men planned to travel up from Highway 50 north and trap her. 

The electronic chirp of the GPS device attached to the windshield alerted him that the exit that would put him onto Highway 50 was quickly approaching. He had a head start on Solomon, and the competitor in him had every intention of taking out their targets without waiting for the Frenchman. He knew it was irresponsible, but the two professionals in the back seat silently cleaning their Heckler & Koch 23 handguns gave him a quiet confidence. It would be three against two, and he had the element of surprise with him. He saw no reason to wait for Solomon.  A fourth person rushing into a small motel room would do nothing but make things more confusing, in addition to providing more bunched together targets for the woman if they happened to walk into a trap. 

Gregor made a right onto Highway 50 North. As he drove along the two-lane road he could feel the 4-wheel drive kick in, gripping the road through the thin layer of snow. Traffic was sparse. Most of the vacationers were already inside the casinos, and the locals were hunkering down to prepare for the small blizzard the weather forecasts had been predicting. The snow trucks were omni-present, already driving up and down the highway and plowing the snow away as fast as they could.  Gregor began a mission briefing with his companions. They discussed different scenarios, and established parameters for the pending assault. They nodded in silence as they lovingly prepared their weapons for what they hoped would be a quick outing.

***

              Alex sat in the old, tweed chair and practiced the quick firing motions Marilyn had been going over with him the last few hours. It was a good way to kill time. The thin walls and cheap carpet of the motel room provided no warmth from the blizzard that was beginning to form outside their window. Alex was dressed in full winter regalia, minus a winter coat they had just purchased which was lay crumpled at his feet.  Despite the woman’s assurances he still felt uneasy sitting in a hotel room when an unknown number of people were looking to kill them. Every survival instinct he ever had was keeping the adrenaline flowing through his body, so he passed the time by working the small pistol, trying to adjust to the feel of it. He had never held a weapon before, and frankly never had the desire to.

Interviewing for the CIA came not out of bloodlust or revenge, but out of frustration. The terrorist cell uncovered in
Indianapolis had been a jolt to his system, and when his law firm was tasked with assisting the federal prosecution he jumped at the opportunity to be on the research team. The months of planning and learning about the enemy they were facing opened his eyes even more than 10/1/00 did, but what really scared the shit out of him was the way the terrorists could manipulate the court system. 

When they were let go because some of the evidence against them was collected off a battlefield in
Afghanistan in an inappropriate manner, he knew he was in the wrong line of work. The judge in the case evidently expected the military to properly document evidence while dodging bullets. Alex knew the courts were not meant to handle them. Rather, the courts were set up to deal with common criminals; the kind who abused the free society they lived in by circumventing the law to accomplish their own personal goals. These homicidal maniacs were in a different league altogether. They used the free society to try and destroy the very same people that created those freedoms. These types saw it as a life-and-death war with the United States. There was no U.N. resolution that could ever placate them. The only way to engage them in this struggle was to join the battle, and for Alex that meant applying to the CIA. His year of working on the trial with the federal prosecutors pushed his name to the top of the list, and he eagerly accepted the job when offered. 

Alex stopped practicing with his
weapon and looked at his gorgeous companion who was standing at the window, peering through the shades into the evening that was now upon them. She was dressed in black from head to toe, and her hair was tied up in a ponytail.

             
“I thought spies stayed in ritzy hotels. This place is a dump,” Alex said. He was tired of the silence.

“You’ve
seen too many movies. How does the gun feel?” She was now accustomed to his childish attempts at humor and just ignored them. Everyone dealt with fear in his or her own way, and she recognized his defense mechanism. It could be a problem later in his career if he lived long enough, she thought. People who cannot keep their mouths shut typically do not last long in this type of business.

             
“I think I have the basics, but I still won’t be much good in a real fight,” he replied. His lack of self-confidence was apparent.

“A little fear is a good thing. I would rather have you unsure of yourself than arrogant. If something happens just stay low to the ground and blast away at whomever you see. You need to make yourself as small a target as possible. This will make it more difficult for them to kill you, and easier for me to avoid shooting you.” Her eyes stayed focused on the parking lot, scanning for any sign of trouble. She would go check the bedroom window in another ten minutes. She did not tell him,
but she also had her new get away vehicle picked out.  She had been watching a group of college kids unpack their Land Rover for the last twenty minutes. Their room was two doors down, and she studied them closely while they unloaded their snowboards and endless amount of coolers, no doubt full of beer for some evening festivities. The Land Rover had California tags on it. Their demeanor told her they were typical spoiled kids, probably up for the weekend from either Sacramento or San Francisco to take in a little fun on their parents’ dime before heading back to college.

It had been easy to get what she wanted. She had waltzed up to them and asked a few questions about where to find the most intense spots on the ski slopes. Their hormones overtook all of their other senses, and she filched the keys to the vehicle from the driver’s pocket.  The Land Rover was just wh
at she would need. A luxury 4-wheel drive vehicle was the norm in this part of the country, and it would not stand out amidst all the other wealthy show pieces that vacationers drove around. By the time they woke up from their hangovers tomorrow morning she would be done with it and on an airplane. The vehicle would be found in the Reno airport with no damage other than a few extra miles put on it.

             
She originally planned to stay the night, but she no longer considered it a smart play.  She knew she was lucky to run into one of Aman’s amateurs. She could only push her luck so far. Solomon could easily figure out her plan, and if they were taking precautions the man she killed could have been followed. She cursed herself for not thinking of it earlier. Her gambit bought her some time, but that was all. She would just have to wait a few hours longer for her frat-boy neighbors to pass out, and then they would get out of here. As long as Solomon’s men did not show up in the next four to five hours she thought she could escape unscathed. She reached down and touched the cell phone in her pocket, confirming it was still there.